The Confession
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy wakes up from an emergency appendectomy and tells House she loves him. He freaks.


**Just for fun: A few weeks ago, there was a viral video circulating with a guy waking up from surgery and not recognizing his own wife (but marveling over her beauty and the good fortune of the guy who was married to her.) That made me think of this S4 fic. My plan is to eventually write another version of the same fic, with the roles reversed. Anyway, hope you enjoy. - atd**

As soon as it was determined that their patient needed a brain biopsy, House gave a theatrical sigh.

"I guess I'll go get approval from the Wicked Dean of the West," he said, popping up.

"You can't," Kutner said.

"I _can't_?" House repeated, irritably.

"No, she's in surgery," Kutner said.

"Finally, getting the size of the headlights to match the size of the trunk?" House said.

It was a joke—he had assumed that she was _observing_ a surgery, not having one.

"You didn't hear?" Foreman said, concerned.

Now House frowned. He felt his heart start to pound a bit more quickly in his chest.

"Hear what?"

"Dr. Cuddy is having an emergency appendectomy as we speak," Kutner said.

"_What_?"

"Yeah, she came in this morning complaining of abdominal cramps and nausea. She wanted to keep working, but Wilson insisted she see Dr. Foster. It's a good thing, too. They said if she had waited another day, her appendix might've ruptured."

"She didn't say anything to me!" House said.

"What part of 'emergency surgery' don't you understand?" Thirteen said.

"I mean, before that," House grumbled, already feeling a bit ridiculous. "She didn't even tell me she was sick."

"Does she tell when she's on her period, too?" Thirteen cracked.

"No, but she and I cycle together, so I always know," House said. He was already trying to downplay the fact that he was so worried about her.

His whole team was now staring at him.

"Alright, go look in on our patient. And Foreman, go get approval from Dick Cheney—or whomever is second command when Cuddy's not available—for the biopsy."

"Me? Why not you?"

"I just remembered I have a thing. . ."

"A thing?" Kutner said.

"Yeah, a thing. Now go! Shoo!"

His "thing" of course, was checking on the status of Cuddy, which he did surreptitiously, from outside the OR.

When Dr. Foster came out, he followed him into the doctor's locker room.

"Shame on you for looking at her boobs like that on the operating table," he said, limping quickly to keep up.

"You're a pig," Foster said, opening up his locker and taking off his scrubs.

"I assume everything went okay?" House said, like he was inquiring about the weather. "No slip-ups? No unforeseen complications? Your hand didn't shake knowing that the woman who signs your paycheck was the one under the knife?"

"Everything went fine, House. By the book. Unlike _some_ people, I'm a professional."

#####

By the time they wheeled Cuddy to a private room, it was past 8 pm and most of the day shift doctors had already gone home.

House lingered a bit in the doorway before stepping into her room.

He looked at her. She was resting comfortably. Without makeup and with her face so beautifully still, she looked a bit like the college girl he had once been so taken with.

"Goodnight Cuddy," he whispered. He was about to leave when her eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," she said, when she saw him.

"Hey," he replied.

"You came."

Much to her surprise, she took his hand. He looked down at it, suspiciously, then looked at door. No one was coming. He squeezed her hand a bit.

"Of course I came," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Sleepy," she said. Her eyes closed again.

He smiled.

"Yeah, that's probably all the anesthesia—just a guess," he said. "Any pain? Tenderness?"

"No," she said, her eyes still closed.

"Good," he said. Then, pulling back her blanket, he said: "May I?" He wanted to make sure that Foster had done a good job with the incision.

"Uh huh," she murmured. Her eyes were now at half-mast.

He discreetly lifted the gown. The incision was tiny and perfect. There would be no scarring.

"Looks good," he said. "You need anything? Water? Another blanket?"

"No…I'm just glad you're here."

"I'll stay til you fall back to sleep," he said, sitting down on the chair beside the bed. (He was already trying to think up excuses if someone noticed him: "We'll see who gets a raise this year. The doctor who sat by her bedside or the one who didn't.")

"Okay," she said.

On instinct, he smoothed her hair a bit.

"House?" she said, groggily.

"Yeah Cuddy?"

"I love you."  
####

House basically got no sleep that night, playing over Cuddy's bedside scene in his head.

It probably meant nothing, right? The post-surgery ramblings of a woman on morphine.

So what if she had called him by name, taken his hand, acted like _he_ was the one she needed, the one she hoped would be there.

He was just a guy in the right place at the right time.

She would've told Taub she loved him if he had been the first to see her when she woke up.

Yeah, that had to be it.

No need to all worked up over things.

######

The next morning, after the differential with his team, he went to visit her. They were keeping her one more night in the hospital, just out of an abundance of precaution.

"And of course you're the last of my department heads to come visit me," she said when she saw him.

He was so taken aback, he couldn't even bother to hide his disappointment.

"I came to see you last night!" he sputtered. "I was the first one here! You held my. . . "—he caught himself—"poker game up. The boys had to start without me." (It was the best he could improvise on the spot.)

"Sorry if my burst appendix inconvenienced boys night out. And since when do you have boys? Who play poker?"

"I'm just saying. . .I was here."

"Sorry…strong meds," she said. "Thanks, House. You're sweet."

"Don't mention it," he shrugged mopily.

Then he peered at her.

"You really have no memory of my being here last night at all?"

"None whatsoever. I must've been pretty out of it," she chuckled.

"Good, cause I gave you a sponge bath," he said.

"House!"

He looked down at his feet.

"Just kidding. So. . how long do you get to stay home and shirk your professional duties?"

"Dr. Foster said a week. I was thinking Vegas? Or maybe rock climbing in West Virginia? Either that or lying in bed managing my pain."

"I'd come visit you at home, but you'd just forget about it," he said.

She squinted at him.

"Since when are you so sensitive House?" she said. "Do you need me to put out a memo stating that you're my favorite department head?"

"So that's all I am to you huh? Just a department head" he said, shuffling his feet.

"Why are you acting so weird?" she said.

"I'm not. You are," he said. "I gotta get back to work." Then he mumbled, "I'm glad you're going to be okay."

####

Later, he cornered Chase in the doctor's lounge.

"You're the caring doctor sort, right?" he said.

Chase gave him a look.

"Right," he said, suspiciously.

"You've been around a lot of patients when they wake up from surgery?"

Chase raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. . .and?"

"Do you find that they often experience—I don't know—temporary personality changes? Say things that aren't true? Or would you say that anesthesia acts as more of a kind truth serum?"

"House, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"Just making conversation," House shrugged.

"'How bout those Mets?' is making conversation. 'Does anesthesia act as a kind of truth serum' is a touch more specific."

"Well, does it?"

Chase gave it a moment's thought.

"I'd say it's a lot like when someone's drunk. People say things they might be afraid to say when fully conscious—or maybe things they feel subconsciously but aren't willing to admit to themselves."

House nodded vigorously.

"I agree," he said.

#####

The next day, he sat across from Cuddy's assistant, Anita, in the cafeteria.

When he sat, she said:

"House, I'm already sitting here. Obviously."

"I know," he said, taking a loud slurp of his Coke. "Mind if I join you?"

Anita looked around the room, like maybe there was some sort of hidden camera, or someone was playing a joke on her.

"Uh…I guess?" she said.

"Tell me Anita," he said, grabbing some potato chips off her plate.

"You _know my name_?" she said.

"Of course," he said. "I know lots of things about you. For example, I know that you and Dr. Cuddy are close." He leaned back and crossed his legs. "So tell me, Anita. . .does Dr. Cuddy talk about me a lot?"

Anita laughed.

"That's an understatement," she said.

"What does she say?"

"That you're a brilliant doctor," Anita said.

House yawned loudly.

"And a royal pain in her ass," Anita added.

Now he frowned. "Is that all? Does she say anything else more. . . personal?"

Anita shrugged a bit.

"I probably shouldn't say."

"Oh, but you should, Anita. I know you want to tell me. It'll be our little secret." And he gave a roguish wink.

"What's this all about, anyway?" she said, matching his flirtation with her own. "I know there's always an angle with you."

"No angle. Just trying to figure out where I stand with the boss lady—and spend a little time with the boss lady's lovely assistant while I'm at it." He smiled encouragingly.

She thought it over for a second. Then in a low voice said:

"Well. . . I once asked Dr. Cuddy why she put up with you— considering how much trouble you always were for her."

House leaned toward her.

"And. . .?"

"She said, 'It's like my curse. I can't resist him.'"

House sat up straight in his chair, pleased with this development.

"Her exact words were, 'I can't resist him?'"

"Yes: I can't resist him."

"Thank you, Anita," he said, standing up. "We should make this an annual thing. Or maybe ever other year. . .don't want to get carried away." He grabbed a chip and popped it in his mouth before leaving. "Oh, and Anita?"

"Yes House?"

"You shouldn't gossip about your coworkers. It'll get you fired."

#####

Cuddy came back to work a few days later. She bumped into House right at the hospital doors. He practically knocked her over so he could open the door for her.

"Welcome back," he said.

"Thanks," she said, eyeing him uncertainly.

"How do you feel?"

"Good as new," she said.

He nodded like she had just said something very interesting.

"Excellent. I, uh, left you a little something in your office."

"House, it's too early in the day for whoopee cushions or fake dog poo."

He looked hurt.

"It's nothing like that," he said.

"Okay, because the last time you 'left something in my office' the fire marshal needed to be called."

But later, when she got to her office, there was nothing but a large and beautiful bouquet of flowers on her desk.

"Welcome home. You were missed – H," the card read.

"What the fuck?" Cuddy muttered under her breath.

"Wow, those are beautiful," Anita said, standing in the door. "Who from?"

"House," Cuddy said, shaking her head in amazement.

"Gregory House?"

"I know. I'm as shocked as you are."

Anita hesitated for a second. Then she said, "Dr. Cuddy? There's something I should probably tell you. . ."

#####

A few hours later, Wilson located House in the morgue, playing on an X-Box.

Wilson peered at him.

"Since when do you have an X-Box?" he said,

"It was his," he said, jerking his thumb toward the body on steel gurney—a dead teenager with shaggy blond hair.

"House!"

"His parents want him to buried with it. In the meantime, sharing is rad. Right, brah?" He held up his hand for a fist-bump that could never be reciprocated. Shrugging, he went back to his game.

"You're shameless."

"And yet, something tells me you're not here to lecture me on my morbid gaming habits."

"No. . ." Wilson looked around the morgue for a place to sit, but there was none. (House had managed to pop up on one of the unoccupied steel gurneys, but there was no way Wilson was doing that—it seemed disrespectful to the dead. He leaned against one of the refrigerated storage chambers instead.)

"Cuddy is freaked out," Wilson said.

House gave a little knowing laugh.

"Because I gave her flowers?"

"Yes that. And other things. She says you've been acting strangely lately. Being extra nice. And apparently you asked her assistant how she really felt about you?"

"I _told _her not to gossip," House muttered to himself.

"Cuddy thinks you've done something horrible and are just trying to butter her up before telling her."

"That's not it," House said, looking down at his Nikes. He drummed his fingers on the gurney, deciding whether or not to come clean.

"Cuddy told me she loved me," he said finally.

"_What?"_

"Yeah, when she was coming out of anesthesia, she took my hand and said, 'I love you.'"

"You must've misheard her," Wilson said.

"What sounds like I love you? I glove you? I dove you? I shove you?"

"That makes no sense."

"Exactly."

"So. . .she was out of it. Maybe feeling a little lovey dovey because of the morphine."

"That is a definite possibility. And yet. . ."

"And yet. . ." Wilson said, getting it. 'Maybe she really loves you."

"You see my problem here," House said.

"Why don't you just talk to her?"

"I can't. She has no recollection of saying it. She doesn't even remember that I was there."

"Well, what about you? You've obviously got hots for her. You certainly don't want anyone else to have her. You love nothing more than giving her grief. But do you really . . .love her?"

House sighed, hopped off the gurney.

"I don't know, Wilson. Maybe I should get an emergency appendectomy so we can find out."  
#####

"Did you talk to House?" Cuddy said to Wilson over the phone that night.

She was lying in bed, painting her toenails dark red.

"Oh, I talked to him alright."

"So what did he do? Break the MRI? Max out the hospital credit card? Sleep with a trustee's daughter?'

"Nothing like that," Wilson said.

"What then?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"No. . . I think I'd rather just slowly drive myself crazy speculating about it."

"He says you told him that you loved him."

"What?" She jerked up so fast, she almost spilled the polish all over her bed. She placed it on the nightstand. "I did no such thing!"

"He says you were coming out of anesthesia and you took his hand and told him you loved him."

"Oh my God," Cuddy said, leaning back on the headboard of her bed. She brought her hand to her mouth.

"So that happened," Wilson said.

"Oh my God," Cuddy repeated. "Betrayed my own subconscious."

"Yep," Wilson said. "The question is: What are you going to do about it?"  
#######

The next day, House wandered into Exam Room No. 1 to mull over the events of the past week.

He was stunned to see Cuddy already there, in the chair he had been planning on occupying, reading one of the gossip magazines he stashed in the supply cabinet.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

She practically jumped out of her skin.

"Hiding from you," she admitted. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

"Pretending to do clinic duty to get brownie points with you," House admitted. "And why are you hiding from me?"

Cuddy bit her lip.

"Wilson told me about my little morphine fueled…love declaration."

"Oh…that."

"Yeah, so I can see why you've been so. . . weirded out lately."

"I haven't been weirded out," House said. "I've been. . . diagnosing."

"You've been running a DDx on my. . . declaration of love?"

"Something like that."

"And, what's your diagnosis, doctor?"

"Inconclusive."

She looked at him for a long time.

"What if it was true? What if I did love you? Would you mock me? Blackmail me? Use it against me for life?"

"Maybe," he said, looking back at her. "Or maybe I would tell you that I. . . feel the same way." His gaze was unnervingly direct.

"Why do I feel like I'm stepping into a trap here?" Cuddy said.

"It's no trap," he said.

She squinted at him.

"Okay, it's true," she said finally, defiantly. "I love you. I've loved you since college, I'll probably always love you. I'm not necessary proud of this fact, but it is what is."

He limped over to her.

"Funny coincidence that," he said, with a relieved smile.

"Yeah?" she said, jutting out her lip in a way he found beyond adorable.

"Yeah, cause I love you, too."

They stared at each other.

The airing of such a long-held secret left them both a little shell-shocked.

Eventually, House leaned toward her and whispered: "So should we . . .kiss?"

"I'm the Dean of Medicine sitting in her hospital's crowded clinic in the middle of the day . . ." Cuddy started.

House gave a disappointed but understanding nod.

"So yeah, we should probably kiss…"

His face broke into a huge grin.

She stood up, got on her tip-toes, and kissed him softly on the lips. Their lips parted a bit—lingered, tasted each other. His hand gently slid down her back, grazed the top of her ass. Then he pulled her tighter, his touch got firmer, more insistent, and the kiss grew deeper.

"Oh boy," she said backing away in a "we're in trouble" kind of way.

"Yeah," he said, breathing a bit heavily. "So what next? Besides me going to masturbate in the men's room, of course."

"What do two people who are in love do?" Cuddy mused.

"I dunno," House said.

"They go on a date, I guess."

House tried to collect himself.

"Right. A date. I can do that. Chez Jacques? 8 pm."

"I was thinking something more along the lines of, my bedroom. 10 pm."

"I knew there was a reason I loved you."

THE END


End file.
